Family
by MBrower
Summary: A family can be created by blood or by choice.
1. Chapter 1

"John, Mrs. Anders, and her son are in room five. He's presenting with a bad cold or possible flu." Stella's voice announced over the intercom.

"Be right there," John replied wearily.

After working at the surgery all week and running all over London for the past three nights with Sherlock, John was exhausted. Hopefully, Tom Anders would be his last patient of the day and he could go home and have a nice cup of tea and perhaps a quiet night at home since they had wrapped up their latest case the night before.

After processing Tom's throat culture and filling in some never-ending paperwork, John called it a night. Shutting off his computer he grabbed his things, said his good nights and walked out into the evening.

It must have dropped ten degrees, he figured while wrapping his coat tighter around him. Good thing I put that extra layer on this morning. I love this jacket, but I think it's gotten too threadbare after all these years. Can't wait till next week when I will finally have enough money to get another coat more suited to the London winters. He had been saving up for months and almost had the full amount.

A shrill ringing brought John out of his reverie.

"Hello?" John said answering his cell phone.

"This is Officer Davis. Am I speaking to Dr. John Watson?" said the slightly accented voice on the other end.

"This is he. Is Sherlock okay? What has he gotten himself into now?"

"This isn't about Sherlock sir. I'm calling about a Harriett Watson." He replied.

"Is she okay?" John asked in a rush. It had been a while since he had heard from Harry. He had been meaning to check on her, but the time always got away from him.

"Physically, yes, but seems to have created quite a scene at Paddy's Tavern."

Of course, she has, John thought.

"I'll be right there. Thanks for calling Officer Davis."

With a heavy sigh, John changed directions, flagged down a cab, and went to help bail his sister out again.

Ever since Harry had been solving her problems by drinking, John had been trying to help her. Over the years he had taken her to several AA meetings, which seemed to stick at least for a short while. Through a friend, he was also able to get her into a treatment facility. There work lasted two years before a job loss followed by a break-up resulted in her relapse.

He was getting tired of the whole process—rescue Harry, swearing she wants help he calls in every favor to get her sober. She's a model patient until a hardship hits and all her sponsors, teachings and lessons go out the window and back to the bottle she goes looking for answers. Perhaps, this is the time to say no and let her get herself out of her own mess, but she is his sister and John doesn't feel like he could just turn his back on her fully. Not like their father did.

He could still remember that night. Harry walked in the door two hours past curfew trying her best to put one foot in front of the other as silently as possible. Suddenly, the living room was flooded with light as their father said in an icy tone, "What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

"Dad, what are you still doing up? I thought you had an early meeting tomorrow." Harriet replied.

"Of course I'm still up. My 16-year old daughter isn't home, even though she has been warned several times I might add, what would happen if she missed curfew again."

"It wasn't my fault. We had a flat on the way home and Andrew ran into trouble trying to take the lug nuts off."

"What's your excuse for the drinking?"

"Drinking? I don't know…."

"Don't give me that!" He yelled interrupting her. "I can smell it on your breath from here. Nice try with the mints though, or are they serving wintergreen beer now?"

"Beer? No, I only had soda tonight. Someone must have splashed me with their drink at the party." She answered.

"Party? I thought you and Andrew were going to the movies at least that is what you told your mother."

"That's what I meant. You'd be surprised what people sneak into the theater. I'm just tired and got confused."

"Of course you got confused! Who wouldn't? With all the lies you tell, I'm not surprised!"

"Screw you! You're no saint either!" She bellowed. "I've seen you come home from a so-called business meeting with lipstick on your collar and you reeking of another woman's perfume!"

"Why you little…"

As flesh hit flesh and tears could be heard, Harry yelled, "You bastard!"

"I will not have you disrespect me in my house! You will apologize immediately young lady!"

"Änd if I don't?"

"Then you can get out!" he roared.

"Gladly!"

"If you go that's it. You are no longer welcome here. If you walk out that door, I no longer have a daughter."

The slamming of the door reverberated throughout the whole house.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"That will be ten pounds, sir." The cab driver announced.

"Sir?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" John asked as he woke from his reminiscing.

"Ten pounds."

"Oh yes, here you go." John paid the driver while exiting the taxi.

As he walked into the bar he noticed the front window was cracked and the stained floor was littered with pieces of wood from what he assumed was once a stool or two. The jukebox was also sporting a crack in its casing and a few sparks were crackling as the colored lights repeated their sequence in a mesmerizing dance.

"Don't tell me they called in the Calvary." Harry slurred.

"You must be Dr. Watson, I'm Officer Davis. We spoke on the phone."

"John, please. What happened?"

"This woman tore my place apart when I wouldn't serve her anymore." A sandpapery voice replied.

"You're lucky it was just your bar and not your face. However, that might actually be an improvement." Harry called out.

"HARRIET, SHUT UP! This isn't helping matters. I think you're in enough trouble as it is. Just let it go." John said in his most commanding voice.

She glared at him, but remained silent.

Turning back to the bartender John asked, "How much are the damages?"

"I figure about 800-1,000 pounds. I'm willing to drop the charges if she agrees to pay for the damages and never set foot in my bar again."

"There is no way I'm paying to fix up this dump. I will never set foot in this hellh…."

"Harry Enough!" John shouted cutting his sister off. "I doubt she has the money to pay for the repairs. I'm a little tight myself, but perhaps we can work something out."

"Look, I'd like to help you out, I have a sister who is a handful as well. However, my wife is pregnant with our third child and I…"

The sound of broken glass could be heard as John slumped forward on the bar. Officer Davis jumped up and knocked the broken beer bottle from Harry's hand. He then proceeded to cuff her hands behind her back while escorting her out to his patrol car.

Meanwhile, the bartender checked on John and offered him a clean to help staunch the flow of blood from the back of his head. " Look mate, I have a brother who is a bit of a handful, so I can sympathize and it seems like you have your hands full with that one. I get the impression this isn't the first time she's done something like this."

"Not even close." John replied.

"Tell you what, perhaps we can work out a deal. How's about we split the cost?"

"That would be great, thanks."

As they were trading contact information Officer Davis returned. "May I?" he asked nodding towards John's head.

"Be my guest."

"It's still bleeding and seems pretty deep. I think it may need stitches." Officer Davis said while evaluating.

"Great." Muttered John

"I can give you a lift to the A&E on the way to take your sister in."

"I won't be pressing charges, as long as she stays out of my bar." The bartender declared.

Turning to John, Officer Davis declared, " She did assault you,…."

"Thanks, but that's not necessary. Perhaps you could hold her though? 24 hours or something, just until she sobers up."

"No problem. She can join the others in the drunk tank."

"Come on, I'll give you a ride."

Instead of going to the A&E, John had the officer take him to the surgery. Hopefully, he would be able to get treated and sent home quicker.

"Back so soon John?" Nurse Nicole said laughingly. Her chuckles died on her lips as she got a good look at him. "What happened?"

"Hurricane Harriett." John stated.

While she irrigated and stitched the wound John explained how rapidly his evening had gone downhill after punching out of the office two hours ago. Was it really only two hours? It felt like at least a week. Exhaustion settled into ever muscle and the idea of getting on the tube appeared to be a feat worthy of Sisyphus.

"Thanks Nicole. I'll see you later."

"Take care John and get some rest."

"Will do."

John had walked a block when a black car rolled up next to him. As all the air rushed from his lungs his chin dropped to his chest and he closed his eyes. "Not tonight, Anthea. Whatever Mycroft wants will have to wait. I'm not in the mood."

The door opened and a masculine voice said, "It's just a ride John. I think you've had enough for one day."

"Thanks Mycroft." John said as his lips formed a genuine smile.

The leather must have been designed specifically to his measurements John decided. It was like slipping into a soft, worn glove. Leaning his head back John was asleep in minutes.

A gentle shaking of his right shoulder followed by "John. John you're home." Brought him out of his slumber. Blinking a few times, he looked around and realized they were parked in front of 221B Baker Street. Extending his hand to Mycroft, John thanked him. Shaking the offered hand, Mycroft replied, "You're welcome."

As John exited the car Mycroft called, "John". He continued when John looked back over his shoulder. "Taking care of a sibling can be very trying. You are a good man."

John just smiled and gave a small salute before turning and walking through the door.

"Home, sir?" The driver inquired.

"I have a stop to make first." Mycroft replied as he provided an address.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

John plodded up the fourteen stairs thinking of nothing but a nice cuppa and sleeping for a week. Shrugging off his jacket as he crossed the threshold, John stopped dead in his tracks. On the coffee table there were two place settings with what looked like toast, biscuits, beans and two Bunsen burner "candles".

"Oh good you're home." Sherlock said as he entered from the kitchen carrying the teapot.

"What's all this?"

"Dinner."

"Thank you." John said as he sat down. "Oh that's heaven." He announced after taking a sip. You should make tea more often."

"Nope." He replied, making sure to enunciate the p with more force than necessary. "Besides, I can't cook all the time."

"Cook?"

"I used the stove."

"Tea doesn't count as cooking." John explained, but Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

Gesturing towards a yellow container, John asked, "What's in the bowl?"

"It's either black olives or burned eyeballs." Sherlock said while offering John the bowl.

"When's the last time we bought olives?"

Sherlock paused as he pondered the answer. "Perhaps, best not to chance it." He replied, setting the mystery item down.

"Good call. Maybe we should just throw the whole thing out."

"Agreed."

After a few minutes of silence, John quietly asked, "How did you find out?"

"Lestrade called."

"Officer Davis must have told him."

"John, I'm sorry."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

The room fell silent as the two enjoyed the rest of the meal. After John had managed to yawn four times in two minutes, Sherlock suggested, "Why don't you go to bed and I'll clean up."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes at John's skeptical look.

"I do understand the concept of straightening up."

John was sure the "concept" involved Ms. Hudson downstairs, but at this moment he couldn't muster the energy to argue. "Works for me." He said as he headed up to his room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The black car rolled to stop, "We're here sir." The driver announced.

"Very good. I shall only be a few minutes."

Harry could hear footsteps accompanied by a light tapping coming down the hall. She looked up as the door to her cell opened, "Who the hell are you? My fairy godmother?" She asked, looking at the man with pursed lips and a suit that cost more than a year's rent.

"Not quite Miss Watson, but do be assured I can do magic. I'm very good at making sisters disappear."

"What do you want?"

"I have an offer for you. One I highly suggest you take. If you decline….well let's just say it will be an unfortunate outcome. For you at least."

"Fuck off! I don't respond well to threats."

"Oh, this is no threat. I'm just stating the facts. There is a spot reserved for you at Birchwood Treatment Facility. In the morning when you are released you will check yourself in and remain a patient for the duration of the program. Once they deem you fit to return to society you will attend weekly meetings and continue to stay sober.

If you deviate from this plan, and I will know if you do, you will find yourself with a new address. One without a breakfast nook and framed pressed flowers in the shape of a heart. Really? Decaying organic material? Oh well, sentiment I suppose."

"Wait, how did you know? That's been buried in the bottom of the hope chest in my closet for at least a year." Harriet asked, her voice shaking.

"I have my ways. They are expecting you at 9 am sharp. Don't be late." He instructed, as he placed the facility's business card on the cot.

As Harry reached for the card, Mycroft grabbed her wrist in a vice grip. Dropping his voice an octave or two, he said, "If you ever lay a finger on John again, I will drop you down a well and you will never see daylight again. And yes, this one is a threat." With those words Mycroft turned and left, his umbrella rhythmically tapping down the passageway.

The tapping could later be heard climbing the stairs to his brother's flat. "Hello, Brother mine." Mycroft announced as he entered.

"Did you get it?" Sherlock asked.

"Was there ever any doubt?"

"Thank you."

For the briefest of moments surprise registered on Mycroft's face before the unreadable mask returned.

"That must of hurt."

"You have no idea." Sherlock admitted.

"I'll just leave this here." He said, as he placed a box on the couch.

"Good idea."

A nod was the only reply.

The next morning John had barely finished his breakfast when Sherlock came charging out of his room announcing, "Come on John, the game is on!"

Getting up and reaching for his coat, John's hand froze in midair.

"Sherlock, what's this?" he asked pointing towards the rack.

"Really. We have a case and I will need my blogger functioning at peak intellect. Well, peak intellect for you. If you can't even tell what a coat is…."

Heaving an exasperated sigh, John said, "You git. Where did this coat come from and what happened to my jacket?"

"I believe the wool came from a sheep, and judging by the thickness of the fibers I would say grass fed ones from the region of…."

Raising his hand, John yelled "Enough! Forget I asked."

"Now that the nonsense is over, can we get on with the case? Or do you have some other burning sartorial questions?"

"No, I'm good. We can proceed."

As they started down the stairs, John called, "Sherlock."

"Yes, John."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."


End file.
